


To Live Without You Loving Me Back

by JustARandomIdiot



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Hanahaki AU, Hanahaki Disease, Imector, also this is my first attempt at hanahaki i hope i did it right, it gets v angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-23 01:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14321619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustARandomIdiot/pseuds/JustARandomIdiot
Summary: When she coughed up the first few petals, she hadn't thought much of them. They were marigold petals.





	To Live Without You Loving Me Back

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at the Hanahaki disease. I don't really know the rules too well, I only know it's caused by unrequited love, so if it doesn't apply to a situation like this, then rip.
> 
> I still like this idea though so :P

When she coughed up the first few petals, she hadn’t thought much of them. They were marigold petals, which she assumed came from when she and Coco created the marigold path for her parents’ spirits to follow. Not that she cared if they came. Her parents hadn’t approved of her marrying a _musico_ , of all people, so she had lost contact with them until they had died. She didn’t believe the stories of dead spirits returning once a year, but she wanted to set an example for her daughter to follow when she was older.

 

After dinner, she coughed up three petals in the kitchen, which she felt lodged in her throat after thinking back to her husband who had left her family almost ten years ago. She figured they had somehow gotten into the food without her knowledge, and left it at that. They were only petals. Afterwards, she never gave them another thought.

 

Until a few months later.

 

It had been the day he left them. It had been the day he left her.

 

There was an aching in her chest as she thought of him. She had thought time would heal the wound, but it only seemed to get worse each passing day without him. Looking out the window out of habit, the aching started to rise up her throat, and she fell into a coughing fit. She leaned out, her grip tight on the windowsill. Once she had finished, she opened her eyes.

 

Petals lay on the ground in front of her, one falling slowly. She counted seven in total.

 

There weren’t any flowers on the window, and there weren’t any flowers nearby. She looked around, wondering if they came from her. She didn’t see anyone who had passed by to witness it.

 

Worry in the back of her mind, she slowly backed away from the windowsill. She turned back, deciding to work on those shoe orders to take her thoughts off of the petals.

 

Shoemaking allowed her to busy herself that her problems were temporarily forgotten days or even weeks at a time. She only ever worried about getting her orders done in time and the well-being of her brothers and daughter. For a while, she had even forgotten the petals had ever happened.

 

But she slipped.

 

A teenage girl had passed by the shop, humming an upbeat and bouncy song that reminded her of him, one that was too similar to the song that won her over. She had moved to shut the window and keep the music out, but pain struck her chest and she doubled over, coughing up more petals. Her brothers rushed to her side, helping her up once she stopped.

 

“Are you okay?” Felipe asked.

 

“What happened?” Oscar asked.

 

“Did you eat a flower?”

 

“A marigold, perhaps?”

 

For several moments, she couldn’t answer. She stared wide-eyed at the orange petals, thoughts buzzing madly in her brain. Her chest tightened, but it wasn’t from more petals. Once she was able to take a few deep breaths, she gently brushed her brothers off of her. “Estoy bien, don’t worry about it,” she told them, putting on a shaky smile.

 

“But Imelda–”

 

“You just–”

 

“I said I’m _fine_.” She glared at them, causing the two to take a nervous step back. She turned around, sighing softly. She needed to get back to work. Heading back to her workbench, she picked up some leather and started on another pair of shoes. As she did, she could feel her brothers’ stares, almost feeling their concerns radiating off of them. As she heard them shuffle back to their work benches, she turned to them.

 

“Por favor, don’t tell Socorro about this…” she said quietly. She rarely used her daughter’s real name, but she needed them to know she was serious. They turned to each other, exchanging a glance, before turning to her once again and nodding.

 

“Sí,” they replied in unison, and the three of them worked in silence, waiting for the girl to return from school.

 

The years to follow brought more petals, but they had become easier to manage. She had learned to keep her emotions in check, and the petals were kept to a minimum. She was very lucky that she didn’t cough any up in front of anyone, besides her brothers. However, they began to come up in larger bunches, to the point of creating full blossoms stained with blood.

 

She stared at the marigold blossom that sat in the palm of her hand, the red liquid dripping to the floor. She wiped her mouth shakily, tasting the metallic flavor in the back of her throat, a red smear now on the back of her free hand. She couldn’t breathe, from panic and from another blossom rising up. She violently coughed it up, her throat dry and achy. Tears in her eyes from the pain, she knew that she needed to see someone soon.

 

Many of the doctors didn’t believe her. Some saw her cough up the plants, but didn’t know what to think; they thought she could’ve had some sort of parasite, but never told her with certainty in their voices. Only one knew for sure what it was, a doctor who had lived in the United States for about a decade.

 

“Hanahaki,” he called it, a disease which had apparently been first diagnosed in Japan. Flowers were slowly growing in her lungs, which she had been coughing up. According to him, it was acquired through unrequited love, and at the moment, no known cure had been found, except for the love to be returned.

 

Unrequited love? She had no clue what he meant. She didn’t love anyone, her heart was surrounded by a barrier no man could ever break through ever again. However, an epiphany soon came to mind the next time she coughed up the flowers. She had thought of her husband just before they came up her throat, and she realized.

 

_It was Héctor._

 

_She loved Héctor._

 

No, she didn’t love him. That man, that _disgusting musician_ , abandoned her. He left his family just for music. He left them to fend for themselves as he showered himself in the world’s praise.

 

He left them. He _left_ them.

 

She couldn’t love him.

 

_She didn’t love him._

 

She was a few years over sixty when she had learned of the disease. She told herself it couldn’t be real. She told herself it wasn’t happening. It only got worse in the following decade.

 

The blossoms quickly became bouquets, stems coming up and scratching the back of her throat, doused in blood.

 

_I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him–_

 

More came up, her chest more painful than before. Breathing was impossible as they kept coming, some small petals falling through her nose as well. The thick red liquid stained the flowers, the sight making her nauseous.

 

_I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him–_

 

She coughed up more flowers, tears streaming down her cheeks, mixing with the blood dripping down her chin and staining her dress. Her throat burned badly as she wheezed hard, trying to catch her breath, but it only made the tight pain in her chest worse.

 

_I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him–_

 

It hurt too much. At this point, she was coughing up pure blood, the flowers coming up every few minutes.

 

_I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him I don’t love him–_

 

_I love him._

 

And it hurt.

 

_I love him. I love him too much._

 

She coughed up more flowers, which were now barely visible in the pool of blood that grew slowly on the floor. The tears that now pooled with the metallic liquid were no longer from just pain; they became tears of sadness as she realized one more thing.

 

_He doesn’t return my love._

 

She let the flowers come. She let the pain overwhelm her. She let the black at the edges of her eyesight obscure her vision.

 

_He doesn’t love me._

 

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t move. She didn’t hold it back. She didn’t care.

 

_He doesn’t love me. But I love him._

 

_He doesn’t love me. I love him._

 

_He doesn’t love me._

 

_He doesn't love me._

 

_He doesn’t..._

**Author's Note:**

> Must be hard for someone who's dead to return the love, am I right?
> 
> I know Héctor still loves her while he's in the Land of the Dead, but let's not forget she believes he doesn't love her anymore.


End file.
